


once, twice, three times a nightingale

by PeachGO3



Category: Good Omens (Radio Drama), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Crossover, Fluff and Crack, Good Omens Big Bang, Hurt/Comfort, Other, also: blatant Abba-fication of the radioverse, this turned out kind of meta lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22512604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachGO3/pseuds/PeachGO3
Summary: An angel and a demon jump out of a radio and mix up books and television. Time to clean up the mess.Art byWaldosAkimbo. Beta’d byasideofourown. The gorgeous artwork is integrated in this fic; you can see it in fullsize with all the details if you right-click the pictures.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 63
Collections: Good Omens Big Bang 2019





	once, twice, three times a nightingale

**Author's Note:**

> Originally I wanted to submit a +35k epic multi-perspective drama about the War in Heaven and its fallout, but it was taking too long and now it’s this ineffable husbands salad instead lmao.
> 
> I love how different all these characterisations are, they’ll always be six different characters to me haha :’) The book versions are so lovely and derived of conflict, but the radio versions are even more *relaxed* and simply *okay* with one another; I love them to death. Plus the radio drama seems to embrace the supernatural horror elements the most, which is brilliantly exemplified in Waldos’ beautiful art – as well as the rarely sung lyrics of Nightingale at the end.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

_If you change your mind  
I’m the first in line  
Honey, I’m still free  
Take a chance on me  
  
_

_If you need me, let me know  
Gonna be around  
If you’ve got no place to go  
When you're feeling down_

Aziraphale did not have a radio, which was a shame, because Crowley quite liked listening to the radio. Now that the forces of Hell would no longer interrupt by contacting him over the radio waves, it was really relaxing. All he needed was a hot drink, a newspaper maybe, and he was ready to go. Crowley liked the little comedy bits, even though they were rarely genuinely funny, and he liked the music. There were a lot of different channels to choose from, and everyone played different types of music. By now, Crowley got along with his flat’s radio so well that he could just tell it what to play next, depending on his mood. It was a welcome diversion from the Bentley’s unchanging monotony. Crowley and the radio already worked well together. It woke him in the morning and relaxed him after wild nights.

Thus, Crowley decided that Aziraphale needed a radio as well.

One rainy day, he parked in Soho and covered the little carton with his arm as he stepped inside the shabby little bookshop. “Knock, knock,” he called.

“Crowley!”

“That’s not what you’re supposed to say. Oh.” Crowley stopped and adjusted his shades. Aziraphale greeted him barefoot and with red braces over his (formerly purely) white shirt. “Nice,” Crowley commented with a smile. Delicious.

“Thanks,” Aziraphale said. “I thought I’d try something new. What have you got there?”

“Oh, just a little something,” Crowley said and swaggered closer.

“For me?” Aziraphale asked. The pitter-patter of his bare feet on the floor was a sound Crowley enjoyed so much he could even bear the summer heat to pay for it, anew every year. (However, cold weather would not stop Aziraphale from refusing to wear shoes either, as his current state proved.)

Crowley cleared his throat. “Yes, it’s a-”

“Don’t spoil it!” Aziraphale exclaimed and snapped the package from his hands. When he opened it, red flowers sprung from the carton, making him gasp. “Those aren’t supposed to be there,” Crowley said nervously. _Get a bloody grip, Serpent of Eden._

“No need to be embarrassed, my dear,” Aziraphale assured him. His face lit up when he pulled out the small vintage radio. “That’s swell. Why, thank you, Crowley!”

“You like it?” Crowley smiled.

The angel shifted. “Well, I don’t listen to the radio, but I know you do. So maybe you could instruct me,” he said.

“There’s nothing I can instruct you about,” Crowley frowned. “You just listen to it.”

“Oh. Does it play ABBA?”

“Yes, if you want it to. Turn it on with a miracle and ask it to play what you want. Mine’s pretty easy. I’m sure you’ll get along well,” he said with the voice of a businessman. Aziraphale glanced at him with a smile. “All right then. Thank you very much – I think I’ll place it here,” he said and randomly put the radio on a dusty bookshop.

“Actually, I, err,” Crowley began.

“Hm?”

“Actually, I thought it would do well in the bedroom.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes irritation, but then he understood: “You mean for…?”

“Afterwards, maybe,” Crowley specified. “It’s quite relaxing, I believe.”

“Certainly,” Aziraphale agreed and took the radio again, bare feet padding. He looked up at Crowley with a planless if slightly excited expression. “I can make us some sandwiches,” he offered.

“Great,” Crowley said. “I’m starving.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, “then maybe the Ritz instead?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine.”

“That’s fortunate,” said Aziraphale, shifting and scratching his stubble. “Because I am quite in need of a joint visit to the bedroom myself. Maybe we could get it on right away? And have the sandwiches afterwards?”

Crowley chuckled and took off his sunglasses. “No one can phrase that like you,” he sighed with an affectionate look. Aziraphale’s eyelashes fluttered as if to ask, ‘so?’.

“Let’s go upstairs then,” Crowley added, shades back on his head.

***:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Point of View – Radio!Aziraphale**

Aziraphale could still hear Crowley gasping for air after he raised his head and laid himself next to the exhausted demon. He folded his hands and chuckled, pleased with his performance.

“That was good,” Crowley said, all fours spread on the bed. Aziraphale smiled, a bit exhausted himself. They still needed to work on that.

“Thank you, angel.”

“You’re welcome,” Aziraphale replied and rolled to his side to turn on the radio, which caused Crowley to make a weird sound. “What is it?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley just stared at the ceiling. There was already a cigarette in his hand.

Aziraphale sighed. Sometimes he wondered whether Crowley was lacking something afterwards, in addition to his cigarette. Maybe he just needed warmth. But he never said anything, which was unusual and thus a bit worrisome to Aziraphale, who was willing to do almost anything for him. Crowley _knew_ that. Now there was a radio in here, but apparently that wasn’t what the demon was craving every time. What was it then?

For a moment Aziraphale thought he should address Crowley’s lingering hand, but then he decided to just turn on the radio. There was some buzzing and rattling and faint voices. Aziraphale laid back onto the bed and fished for the blanket.

“How about some music?” Crowley asked casually. He had drawn his hand away. Aziraphale pulled away the blanket (miraculously wearing his favourite baby blue silk pyjama trousers) to spread it over Crowley as well. Aziraphale sat up, legs on the pillow. “Is it music you need?” he asked from above.

Crowley turned his head and blew some smoke. Aziraphale knew he could do those smoke rings, which was very impressive to him.

“What is it, my dear?” Aziraphale asked quieter and stroked some black strands of hair out of Crowley’s face and back in order, away from his forehead. Crowley’s head snuggled against his silky leg. “Don’t know,” he admitted.

“But the radio is here.”

“It’s just making noises,” Crowley complained. His eyes were closed and his nose rubbed Aziraphale’s leg. He’d never done that before.

“Do you want music?” Aziraphale asked. “Go ahead, I don’t know how it works.”

Crowley chuckled with bright white teeth and burned the cigarette away. “Radio, play us some Mozart, will you?” he asked, his big hand stroking Aziraphale’s leg very nicely. The radio obeyed and switched from buzzing and crackling to strings and clarinets. Crowley melted against the silk.

“Exquisite,” he whispered. His breath was calm and steady, and his voice so lazy.

“I like this piece too,” Aziraphale said and cupped Crowley’s cheek, making the demon relax even further. Was that it? More physical contact and Mozart? “I’ll go down again then,” Aziraphale sung, crawling under the blanket. Crowley flinched.

“See you in ten minutes,” Aziraphale giggled, but Crowley stopped him, if a bit hesitant. “No,” he said simply.

“Do you want me to use the halo this time?”

“No,” Crowley repeated and shook his head.

“I don’t understand,” said Aziraphale and examined the serpentine eyes before Crowley looked away again. The Mozart strings were still playing. “Maybe another time,” Crowley said and patted Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“All right with me,” he replied.

“Okay. Good. Sorry, angel.”

“Don’t apologise, my dear,” Aziraphale smiled, but his voice couldn’t hide the fact that he was upset about not being able to help his friend. “I’m fine,” Crowley assured him with steady eyes. Aziraphale winced when he brought up one of his big hands, eyes still locked. But then he touched Aziraphale’s chin with it, steadied it.

The angel flushed. “What is it?” he whispered.

Crowley’s mouth opened, then he sighed, and his mouth closed again. “Nothing,” he said with a slow laugh. “You have some… you know, right there, on your chin.”

“Oh.”

“Nothing bad, just wanted to point it out.”

Aziraphale hummed and wiped his chin. “How considerate of you to make me aware of that, Crowley,” he said in a tone that sounded just a teeny bit too sassy, and Crowley got up. “Right,” he said, “let’s get out of bed, hm?”

“Okay,” Aziraphale sang and fished for the white shirt. Just then, the radio news tuned in on their own. “It is seven pm already, Crowley,” Aziraphale informed him as he slipped into his shirt. Crowley hummed and twisted the radio waves with a quick gesture. “How can you do that?” Aziraphale asked in awe, but then he remembered: “You can travel through radio waves, can’t you, dear boy?”

“All demons can,” Crowley said and miracled a black turtleneck onto himself. “And so can angels, by the way.”

“Well, I certainly can’t.”

“You’ve never tried it,” Crowley said with a conspiratorial smile. All of a sudden, Aziraphale was very excited, and of course Crowley noticed: “Wanna go for a trip?” he asked.

“Why, I’d certainly like to try it,” Aziraphale said and hopped from the bed.

Crowley nodded. “Very well,” he said and put shades onto his face again. “If I’m honest, I’ve never done this with radio waves either. Just through the telephone line, two or three times,” he added. “Does a different medium make a huge difference?” Aziraphale asked, even though he never really doubted Crowley’s confidence.

“Naah, we’ll be fine. I tell you when to drop out of it,” the demon said.

“How convenient. Where are we going?”

Crowley grinned. “How about-”

“No,” Aziraphale interrupted, “I don’t want to know. Surprise me, dear.”

“Erm,” said Crowley.

“Yes,” Aziraphale sighed, “someplace nice! Shall we?”

“Indeed, angel. I’ll think of something. Come on.” Crowley took Aziraphale’s arm and positioned him in front of the babbling radio. Aziraphale felt his heart rush. “The only thing you need to know,” Crowley explained, “is that you don’t really have control over yourself during the flight.”

“I don’t have that when you’re driving, either,” Aziraphale figured with a scratch on his stubble. “So, yes. This is very exciting, nevertheless.”

Crowley grinned. “Then you’re ready, angel?”

“Always,” Aziraphale said, a hand reaching out for the radio. And then, as if someone grabbed and pulled it, he felt his whole body being sucked into it with such force that he feared his back might be broken. His human body rearranged its atoms, and off they were, high speed on waves and weird music mixes. Crowley was right behind him. But it was news time, and thus the radio stream was full of politicians and other obscure creatures growling, snarling. A tentacle reached into the stream as Aziraphale flew by it.

“Don’t squeaaak,” he heard Crowley call, “just try and watch out for the krakeeen…”

Dark fluid surrounded them, and Aziraphale shook the electric winds out of his hair. After some time he found he could navigate on his own and actually control the flight. It felt weird to fly without wings – he rolled around to find Crowley frowning behind him.

“Everything all riiiight?” Aziraphale asked. He could’ve sworn Crowley shook his head at that, but then the tentacles were back and some fangs tore through the tunnel stream. Aziraphale didn’t feel like traveling anymore. Turbulences made him shudder, and his head hurt. Now the music was playing louder as well. Crowley grabbed his hips and embraced him.

_Sweet dreams are made of this  
Who am I to disagree?  
I travel the world and the seven seas  
Everybody’s looking for somethiiing…_

***:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Point of View – Radio!Crowley**

With a clumsy swing, Crowley pulled them out of the radio waves so that their bodies could materialise again. The first thing he felt after that was a thud on his head. Countless loose book pages swayed to the ground in front of him. Aziraphale was buried under a pile of books as well. He was laughing, much to Crowley’s relief. They were in the bookshop!

“Well,” he said, putting his shades back onto his face, “that was a ride.”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale giggled. “Why have you taken us downstairs?” But then his brows furrowed beneath his messy hair. Crowley stood up as he watched him, legs wiggly and head turning. Something was off… Aziraphale looked at the books’ titles as though he tried to remember when he had gotten those. “Things look different,” he noted.

“Things _feel_ different,” Crowley corrected. “It doesn’t feel like your shop at all,” he added. “It doesn’t even feel real. Still, the electromagnetic waves are here.”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale asked, but then he turned his head. “Someone’s here,” he whispered.

“Crowley?” a concerned voice called. Aziraphale stepped back, right into Crowley. “What does this mean?” he whispered. “I thought they wouldn’t contact you anymore!”

“They don’t,” Crowley whispered back, grabbing Aziraphale and pulling them further into the dark corner of bookshelves.

“Crowley, this isn’t funny!” the voice called now. It sounded close to crying. “Oh, no… What happened to you? No, no…”

Crowley frowned. He frantically tried to remember the voice, but he couldn’t assign it to any demon he knew. Any angel, however, he thought, could be possible. “Aziraphale,” he whispered, “could it be that this is one of yours?”

“What?” Aziraphale asked back, busy with clinging to Crowley’s sweatshirt.

“It vaguely smells like an angel,” Crowley said, but then he froze, because steps were coming in their direction. He desperately wished for his tyre iron, which thus appeared in his free hand. And around the shelf, beyond all the loose book pages, a blond head peeked around the corner. “Tartan bowtie,” Aziraphale noted with surprise.

The blond man straightened up and inquired, “Gentlemen, what are you doing here?”

Crowley waited for Aziraphale to answer. Unfortunately, Aziraphale did the same, so they just awkwardly stood there in the corner, in an embrace, with a tyre iron.

The stranger with the bowtie (the shop owner?) wiggled himself back to confidence, as it seemed. “What’s that?” he asked with thin lips. He snapped his fingers, and the tyre iron was gone. “Oh,” said Crowley.

“Listen, gentlemen,” the stranger said with a tense voice, “I appreciate that you seem to like the work of my partner and me, down to the accessories-”

“Hang on,” Crowley intervened, “who are you?”

“An angel,” he answered, “like your friend there.”

“Me?” Aziraphale asked, still clinging to Crowley, as if he had forgotten.

“I understand that’s how you got in here,” the stranger said with a forced smile. He seemed incredibly nervous. Were they a threat to him? Out of nowhere, Aziraphale said to him, “I sense a loss with you.” He pried himself loose from Crowley and stepped closer, bare feet tapping on the floor. Were they some kind of faraway cousins? Meanwhile Crowley steadied his breath and looked around to try and find a way to escape.

“So, it wasn’t you who made him disappear?” the strange angel asked.

“No,” Aziraphale said.

“That’s strange. Oh, my, where could he be? Have you seen him?” he asked Aziraphale with worry, but then he sniffed. “He’s here, somewhere,” he said mechanically and rushed out of the dark corner. Without looking back at Crowley, Aziraphale followed him (tap, tap, tap…), leaving his demon alone to find a radio to escape over. They needed a radio to return to their own bookshop, because this was another angel’s one. Which was worrying. He even wore tartan.

Crowley figured he should go looking for a radio elsewhere, so he followed Aziraphale out of the dark corner into the shop’s main room. Here, the two angels were standing in front of a pile of books with snakeskin shoes sticking out of it. Oh.

“No fucking way,” Crowley said.

The strange angel put one book aside and asked, “Crowley, dear, is that you?”

“Whoop-ee, what a ride,” a dark head answered. Crowley did not believe his eyes. It was a young demon. Well, old in age, but young in appearance. Fashionable clothes. Another Crowley? With dark glasses?

“Who’re you people?” the demon asked. Crowley shoved Aziraphale aside to eye him. “This is most worrisome,” Aziraphale whispered. “Indeed,” Crowley agreed.

“Well,” the strange angel replied, helping fake Crowley to his feet, “I am the Principality Aziraphale. This is my bookshop. And somehow the three of you” – he looked around nervously – “broke into it, ruined my books and made my partner disappear. Fantastic.”

“Your partner?” fake Crowley asked. He was slim and small. Crowley frowned. “He looks terrible,” he whispered to Aziraphale, who answered, “I like him. Isn’t it interesting to have two of you?” And Crowley didn’t know what to say to that. These were, in fact, different versions of themselves.

“’cause I’m missing a partner as well. Principality? That’ss funny,” fake Crowley said with an insecure hiss.

The strange angel eyed him with longing. “You’re not him. No, you’re not him,” he said. Crowley groaned. Inconspicuously, he stepped aside to go looking for a radio, scanning the shop. It wasn’t exactly tidy, but not as chaotic as Aziraphale’s. _His_ Aziraphale’s. Maybe the radio waves sent them into another… no. Or did they? After all, there have been heavy turbulences. Despite Crowley’s brilliant driving ability, they must’ve taken the wrong turn. “Is this London?” Crowley asked without looking at the company.

“Yes,” fake Aziraphale’s voice answered. London. Then maybe this wasn’t even their universe. Maybe the Aziraphale in this universe was old and stocky and missed his old and stocky Crowley, wherever that guy was now. They couldn’t be responsible for him disappearing, that wasn’t possible.

“So,” Aziraphale concluded, “that means there’s two Crowleys and two Aziraphales. And a third Crowley missing.”

“Make that three of each,” fake Crowley sighed, “’cause another angel is gone, too. Don’t forget about him.” He looked up briefly, as if he hoped to hear that ‘the third’ Aziraphale would be here after all, but no one said anything about that. Just four supernatural entities staring around awkwardly.

“How can you be here?” old Aziraphale asked in the tone an upset grandmother.

“It’s really strange,” fake Crowley agreed.

Crowley and Aziraphale swallowed as they saw the two staring at them. “What were you doing when this happened?” old Aziraphale asked fake Crowley without breaking eye contact with real Crowley. “I was about to go winter picnicking with my angel,” fake Crowley replied, “and you?”

Aziraphale tugged at Crowley’s sweatshirt in panic. “I know,” Crowley hissed and scanned the shop. No radio at all. Just dust and all those loose book pages. Old Aziraphale blocked the shop’s door.

“A winter picnic. How lovely! A shame you were interrupted. Me, too. I was in the middle of preparing to go out for lunch. With the demon Crowley, he was with me.”

The book pages, Crowley thought. If this was indeed another version of their home, then maybe the shops’ books were connected with each other. It was a bonkers thought, but so was their overall situation. Aziraphale’s grip got tighter, he whimpered at the other two stepping closer.

“What were you doing when all of thiss happened?” fake Crowley asked with a hiss.

“We, err,” Aziraphale began.

“Yes?”

Crowley knew they could see him eye the book pages despite his shades, so he had to act quickly. “What you want to imply, gentlemen,” he said loudly, gripping Aziraphale’s hand, “is that we were travelling dimensions? And are thus responsible for this mess?”

Aziraphale straightened up, he seemed to understand the plan.

“Exactly,” old Aziraphale said with strict eyes.

“Well,” real Aziraphale replied, preparing to jump, “that’s ridiculous, quite frankly. We shall see if it worked.”

“What?”

“Ciao!”

“Goodbye!”

They jumped right at the book pages, hand in hand, and _boy_ , it would’ve been ridiculous if it hadn’t worked. But it worked. With a miracle as their tailwind, Crowley’s and Aziraphale’s atoms rearranged once more, this time to be able to travel through the many pages of paper. After Crowley was over the joy of their plan having worked, he shuddered at the feeling of the yellowed paper, sharp and fragile. This felt weird.

“Don’t let go of meee,” he heard Aziraphale call as they were sucked into the kaleidoscope tunnel. Crowley tightened his grip. More monsters – from children’s books? – crossed their path, and sharp paper edges cut through what was left of Crowley’s skin. “I’ll navigate us hooome, angel,” he promised.

“Have you done this before?” Aziraphale shrieked.

Crowley groaned. “No! For fuck’s sake, what is happeniiiing?” He looked back to see if their fake copies were following them. They weren’t.

***:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Point of View – TV!Aziraphale**

Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak, but he had trouble: “You! Where…? Where have you gone, you ruffians!”

“Oh boy,” the young demon – young Crowley? – said. Carefully, he inspected the book pages, but he hissed when he touched them. “These feel different than the ones I sprung from. Full of miracles and electricity. Like radio waves or something.”

“Radio waves?” Aziraphale asked. That was oddly specific. He wondered what radio waves felt like.

Young Crowley sniffed his fingers. He had sharp features, dark hair and wore one of those oversized shirts with a rather ridiculous print on it. And even dark sunglasses. And he was avoiding Aziraphale’s eyes. So, it _was_ Crowley, wasn’t it? “Say,” Aziraphale began carefully, “could they have travelled via… radio waves?”

“It’s possible,” young Crowley said. He seemed to be in a constant struggle of wanting not to make eye contact and still observing Aziraphale. “But they would’ve needed something electronic for that,” he said. “Where’s your radio?”

“I don’t have a radio,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve always wanted to get one though.”

“Yeah, anyway,” young Crowley interrupted, “then a telly, maybe?”

“No,” Aziraphale said, put off by this brashness.

“A computer.”

“No,” Aziraphale said, but then he remembered he actually had one. Young Crowley seemed to know that, too. “Hang on,” Aziraphale said and went back into the corner where the intruders had appeared and almost cried at the sight of his precious Brontë first editions being scattered on the ground, pages cracked and boards opened so widely he could practically hear the books screaming. “This will take days to undo!” he cried.

Young Crowley appeared by his side, totally soundless. Aziraphale gasped. “Oh boy,” he said and cleared his throat. “Uncultured idiots,” Aziraphale complained.

“They are.”

“Hm-m.”

Young Crowley eyed him from the side and then, with greatest care, placed a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about that. I’ll help you put them back together,” he said in an astonishingly tender tone. Aziraphale lit up. “Really? That’s very nice of you…”

“Crowley. A.J. Crowley,” the demon introduced himself, and Aziraphale shook his hand. He smiled brightly, saying, “Well, at least _some_ demons have their manners, regardless of the dimension they jumped out of. A pleasure to meet you, Crowley.” He grinned widely when saying that name, which made the demon hum in joy. He went to inspect the books. Somewhere on a shelf, underneath some loose book pages, there was a computer. He sniffed it.

“Smells of miracles. And old cigarettes,” he noted.

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, as if that observation would clear everything up.

“That’s where they came from,” Crowley said and looked around. “Man, this PC is far sleeker than the one from my angel’s place. But you don’t seem very sleek,” he noted.

Aziraphale wiggled while trying to think of something to say, but Crowley was faster: “So, we’re in London. Newer computers. What year is it anyway?”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, “it must be 2020. It has been for about a month by now.” An addition that was probably unnecessary, but he included it for the sake of completeness.

He saw young Crowley raise his eyebrows. “2020?” he repeated. “Yes,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley frowned and raised his arms in a gesture of desperation. “But that’s thirty years! Thirty years later! What the fuck, 2020? That’s not a real year!”

“Please,” Aziraphale said and stepped closer. The demon was all worked-up, as if he only now realised what had happened, but he caught himself really quickly. “The future. I’m in the future,” he said to himself and exhaled. Aziraphale stood by.

“You must have all kinds of new tech,” the demon said. “Well, not _you_ specifically, but people here in the future,” he specified. “Are flying cars real yet?”

“Flying cars?” Aziraphale repeated.

“Oh,” Crowley said, “from your tone I guess they’re still on their way. Hm.”

There was a pause. “Do you drive a Bentley?” Aziraphale asked into the silence. “Why yes,” young Crowley grinned.

“You might want to have a look outside then,” Aziraphale offered with a smile.

“That’s a lovely idea, Principality,” Crowley grinned. “I mean, now that we know how to travel time and space, I might as well spend some time here and have a look at things. If you’re all right with that, I mean.”

“Surely,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley gave him a smile. “Come on, I’ll help with the books right now. Can we go outside after that? Afterwards I’ll help search for your A. J. Crowley, I promise.”

“Very well,” Aziraphale mused. “I’m sure he is fine. Maybe he’s with your Principality Aziraphale. Who knows?”

“That’s a lovely thought,” Crowley said. Then he began miracling the loose book pages into the air. He was a helpful fellow, Aziraphale noticed, and very kind. “You’re very nice,” he said, without thinking, and prepared for a brash protest to follow it. But young Crowley was very calm about it: “Good thing Hell won’t hear this,” he laughed.

They repaired the books and then went outside; this sunny winter day would’ve been wasted by not going out, they found. Young Crowley marvelled at the Bentley in front of the shop and followed Aziraphale to St James’s Park, where he observed the kids and their flat cell phones with great interest. They even talked about the Apocalypse – well, Apocalypses – and compared their adventures. As it turned out, almost everything was the same, with only a few differences. But as Aziraphale told this young Crowley about the courage of _his Crowley_ , he began pondering. Would he be all right? He surely would, if he was with young Aziraphale.

“What’s your reality’s version of me like?” Aziraphale dared to ask as they walked the green park. “He’s calmer,” Crowley replied instantly. “And a bit more trenchant.”

“I see,” Aziraphale uttered with a smile.

“He wears tartan, too.”

“Oh, thank God,” Aziraphale blurted out. He side-eyed Crowley. “Does he have wings?” he asked carefully.

“Aziraphale? Sure,” Crowley said. “All angels do, like the fallen ones.” He paused for a moment. “Don’t you have wings?” he asked with great empathy. Aziraphale was taken aback by how considerate and gentle this Crowley was.

“I do,” he answered belatedly.

“Nice. If you’re like him, they’re a bit messy,” Crowley chuckled.

“They are,” Aziraphale said with a raised nose. “But at least they aren’t black.”

“Black? Wow, one must’ve _really_ let one’s hair down if they turn black,” Crowley said with aversion. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “No,” he said, “black wings. As in, with black feathers, like a raven.”

“What?” Crowley asked and stopped walking. “That’s some freaky shit. I like it.”

“So, yours aren’t black?” Aziraphale asked.

“No,” Crowley laughed and continued walking. They never ran out of things to chat about. And strangely, Aziraphale felt much younger himself. Which was ridiculous, because this young Crowley was just as old as he was, take three decades. Aziraphale liked this middle-aged body, and he liked his white wings. Yet somehow, a young Crowley with white wings made him feel more… adventurous. He showed him his wings in a quieter corner of the park.

Despite being just as old, this Crowley’s demonic radiation was younger and fresher. Aziraphale liked him. But when he looked up into the clear winter sky that day, he couldn’t help but think of _his_ Crowley. He prayed he would feel just as blessed as Aziraphale himself currently did. Surely young Aziraphale would take great care of his beloved demon.

***:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Point of View – Radio!Aziraphale**

The tunnel spat them out on Crowley’s command, and a thud hit Aziraphale’s head. More flying papers, more dust. He coughed and blinked. Rays of light tickled his face – the sun shone inside the bookshop through its big windows. “Dear Crowley, look where we are,” Aziraphale began, when something cold touched his neck. A blade?

“My dear boy, you move and it will be the last thing you’ll do,” a voice warned him.

Aziraphale whimpered on his knees. Trembling, tears in his eyes, he cried out Crowley’s name. He did not dare turn his head to see who was threatening him. “Crowley, where are you?” he called. The blade was pressed closer into his skin.

“How do you know his name?” the voice asked, still calm, but somewhat peevish.

“He’s my friend,” Aziraphale cried. He exhaled in relief when the blade was lowered. Slowly, Aziraphale turned around. Oh.

“Looks like we found you,” he sighed. In front of him, a man with a sword looked down on him. He was tall and had something so strangely ethereal about him that Aziraphale was sure this was the other Crowley’s angel. The other _him_. He, too, wore a ring (like the old Aziraphale from before), but it was on his ring finger.

“What do you mean?” the angel asked calmly.

“He means we’ve been looking for you, my friend,” Crowley’s voice purred from another pile of books. The other Aziraphale clenched his jaw at the sight of the demon – which clearly wasn’t his. “I see,” he said.

“Are you all right, angel?” Crowley asked as he stood up and took Aziraphale’s hands. “I am,” Aziraphale replied and ran a thumb over Crowley’s hurt hand to heal it. It looked as if he had cut himself on a piece of paper. Aziraphale paused. This whole bookshop – it didn’t smell like a shop. It smelled like a book. An old book from an old cabinet, with a yellow tint on the verges of each delicate page and many memories inside. It shone in gold and white.

“What a lovely universe you have,” Aziraphale complimented with a smile, but the angel’s reaction was indifferent: “I do like this world, indeed, but your soft-soaping does not explain what is happening here.”

Aziraphale shut his mouth and looked down, still embracing Crowley. The other Aziraphale eyed them up and down. “Please come with me,” he ordered. Crowley wanted to obey, but Aziraphale held him back.

The other Aziraphale raised the sword again. God, he was tall. “Do not make me angry,” he said in an unnervingly friendly tone.

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, “I do not intend to make you angry, not at all. I was just thinking that it’d be nicer if you explain to us what exactly you refer to when you talk about something ‘happening here’.”

“Err,” said Crowley in panic. Aziraphale stood tall and did not look down when the angel’s eyes met him. _His_ eyes, for God’s sake. Well, if he didn’t want to explain, Aziraphale could start just as well: “You are me,” he said with a firm voice.

“Seems like so,” the tall angel replied.

“Which is a paradox, unless our universes, each with their own Crowley and Aziraphale, have overlapped somehow,” Aziraphale said.

“Indeed,” the tall angel said, “but I don’t see Crowley with you. Or the other Crowley’s Aziraphale.”

“The other Crowley?” Crowley uttered.

“The other-other Crowley,” Aziraphale mused. “Probably the one that old me is missing.”

“Ah,” said Crowley.

“I know you have a computer,” Aziraphale continued louder, “where the Crowley in question has sprung from, all of a sudden, as it seems.”

The tall angel nodded. “So, you have met _his_ Aziraphale?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

There was a pause ere Aziraphale said, “You’re a lousy host, you should introduce him to us.”

“I would,” tall Aziraphale snarled, “if he could move. I told you to come with me.”

“Fine, then we will come,” Aziraphale announced and tagged Crowley along.

Tall Aziraphale led them to the backroom, where an old demon sat at a table with a dozen bottles of alcohol. “Oh dear,” said Aziraphale and squeezed Crowley’s shoulder. The demon at the table was undoubtedly the other-other universe’s Crowley, he had the same wrought-up energy about him as old Aziraphale. Weird black feathers were all over the place.

“Who are these clowns?” the demon asked through broken shades. Yellow eyes.

“They will explain themselves,” tall Aziraphale said.

“Of course,” said Aziraphale and straightened up, but his face was soft nonetheless. This broken thing at the table was Crowley. _Crowley_. To see him devastated and weary like this nearly broke Aziraphale’s heart. He side-eyed his Crowley, who was facing broken Crowley with an emotional expression. “We want to… to help,” he stammered. “What happened to your wings, pal?”

“Ohh,” the old demon railed, “that’s just the shock of being torn from my best friend’s arms a-and violently thrown here, nah, don’t mind them.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry,” Crowley muttered.

“Yeah,” the other Crowley snarled and drank from another bottle, which tall Aziraphale gently took from his hands. “I believe that’s enough, my dear,” he said and caressed his (shockingly ginger) head while glaring at Aziraphale and Crowley. “Explain yourselves,” he ordered.

Aziraphale wanted to reply with something, how his tone was rude and the circumstances were not the best and so on, but Crowley just started talking. He retold everything that had happened, but Aziraphale did not listen to the most of it, because one sentence right at the beginning of Crowley’s remarks made him think very hard: That they had tried to ‘run away’. That wasn’t true, was it? They just wanted to travel across the radio waves. There hadn’t been any danger they could possibly run from.

What did Crowley think they ran away from? Curious.

However, that sentiment seemed to be something that ginger Crowley could understand. He nodded throughout, cried a bit more and whispered about having lost his best friend. He looked miserable. But his sadness turned into anger once he understood what had happened: “I am the one and only!”

“Obviously, you’re not,” Aziraphale said and flipped one of the feathers from the table.

“Where’s my angel? Where is he?”

“He’s back in you guys’ bookshop,” Crowley said ere turning to Aziraphale. “That wasn’t very nice,” he stated with a blank expression at the flipped feather. Then he turned around to console broken Crowley further. “Your clothes have been ragged as well, I see.”

“They haven’t,” broken Crowley sniffed.

Crowley raised a tired eyebrow. “Those are… your clothes? Holy golden calf, get a grip, man. Have you seen yourself?” he asked.

“My dear boy,” tall Aziraphale intervened.

“You too,” Crowley said to him. “You look like you’ve fallen into a glass of sugar.”

Tall Aziraphale opened his mouth to say something, but then he sighed and caressed the sobbing Crowley with calm hands. “I believe,” he said, “it would be better for you two to get out.”

“Wait,” Aziraphale said, “didn’t you want us to take him back?”

“I do,” the other Aziraphale said, “but he can’t possibly go back in his state. He needs to calm down first. Also, I want you gentlemen to get some fresh air.” He glanced at his ring.

“If you say so,” Crowley said and got up.

“And,” tall Aziraphale added sharply, “after you’ve taken him, you will bring me back _my_ Crowley. Are we d’accord?”

“Oui,” Crowley said, swallowing, and pulled Aziraphale away from the table and outside the bookshop. The paper-book bookshop.

The sun shone brightly and there was a thick layer of snow of the buildings. Aziraphale stretched himself. “This is lovely!” he breathed and stuck his naked feet into a white pile of snow. He giggled. “What’s that?” Crowley asked and pointed to the joint next to tall Aziraphale’s bookshop.

“Intimate Books,” Aziraphale read aloud.

“That’s new,” Crowley said and looked around. “Or, well, old. Look at the humans. The cars. There’s the Bentley.”

“Indeed,” said Aziraphale and went to take a look at it. It was their black Bentley, if a tiny bit more cleaned. Crowley sighed and restrained himself from wondering what kind of music it would play. “It’s the eighties. Or nineties, I don’t know,” he said instead.

Aziraphale smiled. “Don’t let that upset you, dear. At least it’s not the fourteenth century,” he said and gently squeezed Crowley’s hand, but the demon hissed and withdrew it. “Come on, angel,” he said and got going. Aziraphale followed him.

***:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Point of View – Radio!Crowley**

The St James’s Park of the nineteen-nineties wasn’t as nice as theirs, Crowley thought. They’d come a long way since the nineties, and now he knew how fond he actually was of the twenty-first century. It was a kinder time to be alive.

“Aren’t multiverses fun?” he heard Aziraphale ask.

“No,” he growled, miracling himself a jacket to wear over his jumper.

Aziraphale stopped. “Crowley, what’s wrong?”

Crowley sighed. “Listen, I saw how much fun you had getting into… verbal duels with that younger version of yourself, but this is wrong, can’t you see?”

“I can’t see what’s wrong about it,” Aziraphale said and pointed to the ducks in the pond with a smile. Crowley exhaled a white cloud of breath. That sweet smile in that dirty shirt. No shoes. That was _his_ Aziraphale, and the sheer thought of losing him and crying about it like old ginger Crowley was breaking him. (As was the ginger hair itself.)

“Oh, I know what didn’t feel right,” Aziraphale remembered with a determined face. “That shirt your… younger version was wearing. Good Heavens.”

“He seemed healthy,” Crowley argued.

“That black-winged version of you didn’t seem to like the thought not of being the only Crowley,” Aziraphale said as he threw some miracle-bread to the ducks.

“How sharply observed, angel. It _is_ a kind of an unsettling thought,” Crowley agreed quietly. “Makes you wonder what kind of relationships you could have in other universes.”

“Relationships?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley bit his tongue. “Yes. But that’s not important right now. Let’s repeat the plan.”

“Jolly-good.”

“We go back to that bookshop and then travel to Ginger Man’s bookshop to drop him off and get young me.”

“How do we travel there?” Aziraphale asked. “Via book pages?”

Crowley shook his head. “No. We reached the first bookshop through the computer. The book pages brought us to this second bookshop.”

“Ah, right.”

“So, we’ll go through the computer, drop off the drunkard and pick up that young fashionista to bring him back here.”

“Via book pages,” Aziraphale said.

“Yes. And then we’ll finally travel back to our bookshop.”

Aziraphale handed him a piece of bread. “Via radio waves,” he said and smiled. “Yes,” Crowley said, “radio waves. I don’t understand how they got us out of our universe. Or why they spit us out of a computer rather than another radio. Or why the other Crowleys were pulled out of their own respective bookshops. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“This whole situation is a mess indeed, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “But I think we should enjoy it while it lasts.”

Crowley frowned. “Enjoy it?”

“Yes. Now that we know what to do and that the situation isn’t particularly dangerous, I think we should appreciate its… charm.”

“Charm?” Crowley turned to face him. “Aziraphale, we don’t even know if our return plan will work. We could be stuck here,” he said, and Aziraphale let the words sink in. “You’re right,” he finally said. “We should probably go back now and get things sorted as soon as possible.”

“Yes.”

“But, Crowley,” Aziraphale said and tugged his shirt. “Even if we were stuck here – we’d have each other. Remember that,” he said.

A thankful smile crept onto Crowley’s face. “That’s right, angel.”

On their way back through the park, they saw a young girl with tousled hair sitting on the cold winter ground. Crowley dismissed her as a homeless person and prepared to miracle a hot cup of tea for her, but something felt eerily familiar about her. “What is that girl doing there?” he heard Aziraphale ask, and then add a hasty, “Oh! Now she’s looking at us.”

“Does she look away?” Crowley asked, weirdly uncomfortable.

“No, still looking.” As he said that, Aziraphale tugged at Crowley’s jacket and pointed to a breadknife that was peeking out of the girl’s basket.

“That’s it! Another version of _her_ ,” Aziraphale smiled.

“Yes, fascinating, angel. Now come on. Is she still looking?”  
“No, she’s… continuing her work.”

Crowley shook himself. She was downright uncomfortable to look at without that usually pink hair of hers. Angel as he was, Aziraphale would no longer ignore Crowley’s deep-seated unease. “I know it isn’t the knife,” he said and pulled Crowley behind a large tree, not caring that the hissing demon clumsily trod on his bare feet in the snow.

“What is it, Crowley?” Aziraphale inquired in a quiet tone. There was so much concern written in his small blue eyes that Crowley wanted to kick himself. He pressed his lips together and drew back his head, right against the hard bark.

Aziraphale said his name again, warm hand resting on Crowley’s arm. “Why did you tell the others that we were running away when we jumped into that radio? What were we running away from?” His hand cupped Crowley’s cheek, warm fingers on rough skin. Crowley took the hand and pressed a heartfelt kiss to it.

“Oh, angel. I’ll tell you. But not here.”

Aziraphale understood. “All right, my dear,” he whispered and removed his hand all slowly, cheeks red from the cold. “The other Crowleys aren’t this nice,” he said as he eyed the place that Crowley had kissed. Oh, how the demon wanted to melt – he pulled his angel into a warm hug.

“Come on,” he said softly and took Aziraphale’s hand into his own.

_Save me, save me, save me  
I can’t face this life alone  
Save me, save me, save me  
I’m naked and I’m far from home_

***:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Point of View – Book!Aziraphale**

It was hard to explain, but comforting another universe’s version your significant other was not as disconcerting as it may have sounded, Aziraphale found. A cup of tea warmed his hands, but the ginger Crowley did not want to have anything more. Sometimes a familiar ray of demonic radiation hit him or a similar crinkle would move on his face. It wasn’t _his_ Crowley, but it certainly was _a_ Crowley, no doubt about it.

They had been sitting in silence (except for the soft gramophone music) for almost ten minutes now, and Aziraphale’s healthy radiation was tinting into Crowley’s, slowly but surely. He had cleaned up all the black feathers and was now waiting for the demon to speak up. It wasn’t very hard to tell that this Crowley was a complete and utter mess. Maybe it wasn’t fair of Aziraphale to judge him like this in such a strange situation, but he couldn’t help it – he felt sorry for him.

“Don’t look at me like that… that,” the demon stammered, turning his head away.

“I apologize,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley sighed shakily, and it prompted Aziraphale to reach out for his hand to gently squeeze it, making the demon chuckle wearily. “It’s reassuring to know,” he said after some time, “that at least you’re the epitome of kindness in every universe. Wahoo.”

“Don’t you mean ‘whoop-ee?’” Aziraphale smiled at the compliment. “Thanks,” he added, less teasingly. “While you’re the epitome of ‘mess’ in every universe.”

“Don’t say that,” Crowley begged. The furrows in his face were deep, and his eyes glowed when he brought himself to look up. “I never thought of not being the only one,” he breathed.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said, cupping his cheek. He allowed the touch, leaning into it. “Of course you haven’t. No one has. But you’ll always be _someone’s_ only one.”

Crowley nodded and dropped his gaze. “You’re making me all flustered, do you know that?” he laughed. “Thank you for thinking this highly of me,” Aziraphale said. At least he wasn’t walking around barefoot with a stubble…

Glad to have soothed the demon, Aziraphale invited him to talk about the trauma, if he felt like it.

He did feel like it.

_But I can’t help… falling in love… with you…_

This old Crowley did not take his Fall very well. In fact, he had not wanted to Fall in the first place. To be pulled down into boiling pools of sulphur against his will had scarred him for life. Aziraphale never could’ve known such pain. But his counterpart had done a formattable job in caring for this Crowley, as he was told now.

“Always there for me,” Crowley mused. “My best friend.”

“I am very glad to hear that,” Aziraphale said truthfully. To cheer him up, he tried to remember all the names that _his_ Crowley had called the averted Apocalypse. Turned out that old Crowley had thought of the exact same names, but never said them aloud.

“I only once said ‘Armageddon’t’ to my angel’s face and he’d just glared me down,” he remembered with a rough laugh. He seems more comfortable with his shades on – another thing that all Crowleys seemed to have in common.

“I am sure a visit in the South Downs cleared up any fight the two of you might’ve had,” Aziraphale said with a wink, only to find that old Crowley and old Aziraphale did not share, in fact, a cottage in the South Downs. “You don’t?” Aziraphale asked. “Do you not have a private place to flee to, somewhere comforting, where you’re on your own?”

“We do, actually,” old Crowley remembered with a grimace. “Alpha Centauri.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Alpha Centauri? The binary star system?”

“No, the anime character,” Crowley snapped. “Of course I mean the star system. It’s very nice to visit during Britain’s autumn, you should see it.”

“Well, excuse me and my cottage for offending your _private_ _binary star system_ ,” Aziraphale snapped back. “I could propose it to my… partner once he’s back,” he mused, careful not to use the word ‘husband’. Old Crowley would not be ready for that revelation, he feared. Every Crowley had his limits (but _this_ one, especially, did not when it came to the Spanish Inquisition; Aziraphale was surprised to find that he actually declared to have invented it himself – he hadn’t cried about it like his Crowley had at the time – curious).

“You really should visit there sometime soon,” old Crowley said with finality and looked around with serpentine eyes glowing behind the shades. He waited, pacing without actually moving.

Luckily, the strange duo returned soon. Yet again, Aziraphale wondered if this was who he would become someday – stubbly, messy and without any of Heaven’s grace. On the other hand, this barefoot idiot seemed to be at ease with his Crowley. At _peace_. Aziraphale cleared his throat to say, “Well, I think our guest is ready to travel home now.”

“Clearly,” the deep-voiced Crowley said. It sent shivers down Aziraphale’s spine – good God, what a nice voice it was. How could someone like this end up with this mess of an angel?!

“Bring him home,” he said.

“Yes, through the computer, very well,” his stubbly counterpart sang with a smile. Aziraphale saw that he wanted to take old Crowley’s hand, but the demon refused.

“We’ll be back in no time. With your partner, of course,” deep-voiced Crowley said in the tone of a businessman.

“It will definitely work,” the barefoot angel said with a frustratingly happy face. Aziraphale just nodded and waved when they stepped back to the computer and jumped to fall right through the monitor, clothes and skin dissolving into numbers and thin air. Some feather floated upwards once they were gone, and Aziraphale reached for the single black one among them.

“I’m going to keep you,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to it. This Crowley would be healthy and content and all right. Every Crowley would be all right.

***:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Point of View – Book!Crowley**

“Here, catch this one.”

“Got it!”

His old angel wasn’t bad company at all, Crowley thought. For the last few minutes he had been throwing chocolates into his opened mouth. “Whoop-ee,” he exclaimed, “you’re better at this than my husband!”

“Husband?” the angel asked in that polite tone of his, folding his nervous hands, but ere Crowley could specify, there was a loud thud behind the bible bookshelf. “Not again,” the angel begged and frowned. Crowley accompanied him to the corner where the old computer and the (yet again) messed-up Brontë first editions were, and he took off his sunglasses to spat a sarcastic “Welcome back.”

The other reality’s Crowley and Aziraphale grunted in agony and helped each other to their feet. But they were not alone: Another demon heaved himself onto wiggly legs. His human body was screaming ginger and looked _super_ old.

It took him a moment, but when old Aziraphale breathed a relieved “Crowley, dear,” he understood.

“Angel,” the old demon answered equally brightly, face breaking into a heartfelt smile, but neither of them moved. They just stood there awkwardly, and Crowley cleared his throat to break the silence. “Well, looks like your… _friend_ is back,” he said.

“Yes, good Lord, he is,” old Aziraphale smiled, not minding the loose book pages this time around. He looked so happy and glad to have _his_ Crowley back that Crowley almost felt sorry for commenting on his stupid clothes when he asked, “Man, what _are_ you wearing?”

Old Crowley ignored him and miracled new sunglasses onto his face. The broken ones were somewhere on the floor, together with Wuthering Heights. “I’ll never leave again, angel,” he uttered.

Sighing at this melodramatic display, Crowley felt someone tug at his shirt. It was smelly Aziraphale. “Someone’s waiting for you,” he whispered with a kind smile.

“Good. I’m ready to leave,” Crowley said with a friendly glace to old Aziraphale, who now was stepping closer to old Crowley to wiggle and adjust his dark collar. “Oh, it feels jolly-good to have you back, my dear,” he said softly.

“Same here,” old Crowley replied, freezing at the hand that was cupping his cheek now. It was the last thing Crowley saw before the loose book pages flew upwards in front of his eyes, making him fall into a vortex of paper and miracles and electricity – but this time around it felt more coordinated than the first time. Plus, smelly Aziraphale did not let go of his hand, which he much appreciated.

“How long… does this taaaaake?”

“I take… no criticism,” was the deep-voiced answer, and Crowley could live with that, in spite of his atoms screaming to be put back together.

Their cries stopped when the kaleidoscope tunnel ended in the bookshop and finally released them. Crowley gasped – _his_ bookshop, _their_ bookshop. There was the golden hourglass, the green houseplants, the bright windows and –

“Angel!”

Slaphappy, Crowley took a giant step forward, stumbling, only to land in Aziraphale’s strong arms. _His_ Aziraphale’s, his lavender angel, his beloved, cherished sweetheart. The angel’s chuckle was warm against his body, and Crowley sighed when soft lips pressed a gentle kiss to his hair. “There you are, my dear,” he heard him whisper. The angelic radiation was so strong it was close to making Crowley drunk.

“Thank them,” he managed to say and turned around to point to smelly Aziraphale and his partner, who straightened up slightly. It did not make them look any more presentable, but Crowley kind of appreciated the effort nonetheless. Gosh, they were such messes.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said with a firm voice.

“No problem,” the other Crowley replied, and Crowley could swear that his deep voice had made his husband’s radiation jump. Tse!

“I know that we were, kind of, the cause of the problem,” smelly Aziraphale admitted, “but I hope we can leave you on good terms anyway.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale replied without taking his eyes off the other Crowley and his big hands. “What would you say,” Crowley thus chimed in, “if we’d invite you to stay overnight? Have a few drinks, see what happens?” He’d never had a foursome before.

Smelly Aziraphale’s eyes widened at the offer. “Oh,” he said. “I’d love to, really.”

“Hm-m,” Aziraphale hummed.

But then smelly Aziraphale tugged at his Crowley’s sleeve and looked at him softly. “However, I think we ought to go home. There are some things we need to talk about, don’t we, Crowley?”

“Yeah, sure,” deep-voiced Crowley said nervously.

“Who am I to impede the celestial?” Aziraphale said, and Crowley could hear he tried hard to not sound impolite. With an elegant gesture, he miracled the two strangers a small vintage radio, complete with a golden antenna. It looked so distinctively like _Aziraphale_ that Crowley wanted to cry in adoration. Man, it was good to be back!

“You’ll need this, I believe?” his wonderful angel asked.

“Yes, right,” deep voiced-Crowley answered belatedly and stepped up to it. “Thank you and, err, bye.”

“Goodbye,” Aziraphale answered in a tone that sounded just a tiny bit too flirty. Crowley nudged his side as soon as the other two had disappeared in the radio waves. “Could you be any more obvious, angel? I’m _outraged_.”

“You don’t sound like it. You invited them to stay over,” Aziraphale purred as he pulled Crowley into a tight hug and kissed his neck with familiar lips.

“They declined, their loss,” Crowley chuckled. “Beamed away by the radio just like Scotty.”

“I won’t ask who that is.”

“Fair enough,” Crowley smiled, letting himself be carried to the chaise longue were tea and biscuits and the picnic basket were already waiting for him. “You’re spoiling me, angel,” he smiled against the strong neck.

“I’ll spoil you even more once we’re back in the South Downs, darling.”

“With long walks on the beach and sushi? And flower shopping?”

“If you would like that, then yes. Anything you wish for,” Aziraphale said with a joyful giggle as he placed Crowley onto the chaise to capture him in a passionate kiss that made all the dimension-travelling feel like a distant, unimportant memory.

_All we hear is radio ga ga  
Radio goo goo  
Radio trouper, troup-p-per…  
Like I always do, sup-p-per troup-p-per  
‘cause somewhere in the crowd there’s you_

In the dark night, on a street corner in Soho, a black vintage Bentley rambled as a demon and an angel were spat out of the Blaupunkt right into the old leather seats.

_Tonight the super trouper beams are gonna blind me  
_ _But I won't feel blue, sup-p-per troup-p-per_

***:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Point of View – Radio!Crowley**

Crowley saw Aziraphale hold his head and washed away the pain without having to ask how bad it was. Aziraphale exhaled, gasping, “Thank you, my dear.”

“You’re welcome,” Crowley said with worried eyes and turned off the radio. At least that radio was something to rely on; you could always be certain that it would turn any CD into a best of ABBA compilation after a fortnight in his car. They were back home. Finally…!

Aziraphale’s bright blue eyes were shining but tired. And Crowley was tired, too. “All that travelling has taken its toll on you, hasn’t it?” his angel asked softly.

Crowley hummed. Being tired wasn’t bad per se, but it made him feel even more touch-starved than usual. That stupid desire had overcome him again, the desire to snuggle up against his cute angel. To just rest his head against him, to caress him, _to be caressed in return_ – Crowley sucked in a desperate breath.

Aziraphale wouldn’t understand, would he?

His soft glance seemed to prove Crowley wrong: “Come on,” he said in a tender tone and took both of his hands, angelic love flowing through them, “let’s have some tea, shall we?”

The Bentley’s roof was perfect for having tea and cake, and in a clear night like this one, you could even use it for recreational stargazing. It was amazing. It smelled like _their_ Bentley, God damn it, this _was_ their own. Sitting here in this lonely and snowy night, with his angel, resting a head on his shoulder and watching his bare feet dangle off the car was the fucking best thing in days. And even after all this time, Crowley was amazed how this angel could not be bothered to wear any shoes, not even in the icy cold.

“That aged me,” Aziraphale said somewhen, “was kind of neurotic, don’t you think? I hope I won’t turn into him in the future.”

“I felt sorry for him,” Crowley said truthfully, causing Aziraphale to turn his head. “I know you did,” he replied softly, “I felt it radiating off of you.”

“He had no idea of what was going on,” Crowley remembered absently. “Yet he had been so compassionate. Have you seen him when we brought back old me to him?”

Aziraphale did not answer.

Crowley sniffed. “Anyway, I like _us_ best. These other versions dressed terribly. And don’t get me started on their attitudes. They’re probably the kind of people who don’t say goodbye at the telephone,” he snarled. They also were even more uptight than he was. He was hyper-casual, compared to them.

His comments made Aziraphale snicker. “What a fitting observation, my dear. But I thought you’d liked your younger version’s shirt for sure.”

“It was very stylish,” Crowley admitted. He used this mundane conversation to sneak his hand into Aziraphale’s and intertwined their fingers. He dared to have this again. It took a lot of courage, but he managed to go through with it. To stand the emotions stirring him up, trying to bring him down.

Aziraphale answered with warm rays of affection. They raised him up.

“This,” Crowley blurted out shakily. “I’ve longed for this for so long.” His voice was breaking into a soft whimper as he finally let himself indulge in this.

“Oh, dear Crowley,” Aziraphale said, cupping his face with a tender hand as Crowley melted into the liberating touch. “I am so deeply sorry I have not understood you sooner. I have sensed your unease, but I never knew what it was.”

“This,” Crowley repeated. “This was it.”

Aziraphale squeezed his fingers and stroked his chin, pressing heartfelt kisses to his forehead – so many touches, finally. _Finally_.

“But you just could’ve said something,” Aziraphale whispered, running a reassuring hand over Crowley’s back that made positive feelings flow through his whole body. He was good at this.

“I’ve been too s-scared, all right?” Crowley hissed.

“Then this is what you’ve been running away from,” Aziraphale mused. “I apologize to you, my beloved.”

 _Beloved_. How wonderful that word sounded. “Running away?” Crowley repeated absently.

“Yes. You explained to younger me that we were on the run via radio waves, but never specified what we were running away from.”

“After all, we have lots of enemies to choose from,” Crowley sighed, feeling bittersweet.

“Indeed,” Aziraphale agreed. Crowley briefly wondered how that chimera back from Hell’s ninth circle was doing, but his angel rearranged his thoughts in an instant, when he touched his chin to raise his head, to tilt it and, as unapologetic as always, leaned in to kiss him with those chapped lips. With that stubble that felt so right on Crowley’s chin. With a reassuring thumb stroking over his cheek. With a tongue that was thoughtful and tender. This was no passionate sex kiss, this was romantic. It was warm. It was everything Crowley ever wished for.

Lovestruck, Crowley kissed him back, unsure hands wandering up and down that old white shirt. Lips moving softly against each other. They had kissed so often, yet this felt like the first time. Celestial sparks tickling him, cheering him. Amazing.

Crowley did not want to break the contact but had to pull away eventually to breathe. This angel and his swollen lips were a sight to behold. Crowley melted. “I love you,” he said out of nowhere. “Most ardently.”

Aziraphale blushed. “Oh, could I have possibly known? You old serpent.” He snickered and took Crowley’s hand in his again. “I love you, too. I can’t help it. Indeed, deep down, Crowley, you are quite the sweetheart.”

“And you, Aziraphale, are just enough of a bastard to be worth snogging,” Crowley replied, nudging their heads together, stroking over the angel’s warm nape.

“Do you say that because you want a kiss?” Aziraphale teased.

Crowley snickered, but this concern wasn’t real. “Fine,” he admitted playfully. “Fine, I’ll change it. Just enough of a bastard to be worth…”

“Yes?”

Hm. This was more difficult than expected. Crowley settled on, “Worthwhile. To be worthwhile.” He blinked. “Sorry, angel, I’m not a poet.”

Aziraphale shrugged and seemed only vaguely disappointed. “I’ll take it,” he said. “Thank you, Crowley.”

“Thank you, Aziraphale.” Crowley squeezed his hand to stress these words. “I love you so, so much, and I thank you for letting me have this. I know it’s not your shtick.” He imagined all the cuddling, all the snuggling after sex. All the sweet nothings, all of the sappy romance quotes, all of the things he’d never dared to say to his angel. To finally offer to be the King when Aziraphale would shamelessly sing along to Dancing Queen. It excited him to no end.

Aziraphale’s giggle didn’t make it any better: “ _You_ are quite my shtick, old serpent.”

Crowley shifted, and Aziraphale read his unholy thoughts: “Then, err… Should we…? Now?” he asked.

“I’m glad you asked, I really need some after all of this,” Crowley replied. Aziraphale naked toes curled up at this answer. “Oh, how fortunate,” he replied hastily.

“Let’s go to my place.”

“So be it. But please turn around your TV. Just to be sure.”

Crowley shivered at the thought and sent a miracle over to his place in Mayfair. “I don’t want them watching either. Which is why the TV’s already outta the window, so don’t worry. And…” – he took a deep breath and gazed at his angel lovingly and without shame – “let us snuggle afterwards, please.”

Aziraphale beamed. “Of course, dear. Anything you wish for.” He lowered his voice, whispering, “I will try my best to not only shag you. I’m going to _make love_ to you.”

It made Crowley shudder with sentiment. “Sounds bloody perfect,” he growled, helplessly in love. Somewhere here in snowy Soho, on top of a black vintage Bentley, a demon embraced his angel and bathed in the bliss that was his reality.

  
_How strange it was  
How sweet and strange  
There was never a dream to compare  
To those hazy crazy nights we met  
And a nightingale sang in Berkeley square_

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first big bang and my awesome team made it such a fun experience for me! Thank you @Waldos for the wonderful artwork and thank you to @Addy for being an amazing beta,
> 
> and THANK YOU to everyone reading ♡


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